Friday Afternoon Scratchpad

This Domestic Surveillance story is the gift that keeps on giving. First they assured us that they weren’t tapping any phones without a warrant; then we discover that, well, okay, they were recording some conversations without a warrant, but only a few; now come to find out that the phone records of millions of Americans were requisitioned.

It’s like of those horror stories that just gets progressively more ludicrous as it goes along. I can only imagine what’s going to come next.

<diaper>poop</diaper>

As both a geek and father to a toddler, I’ve noticed that I tend to use the phrase “well-formed” a lot at work in reference to XML and lot at home in reference to poop.

Dishturbed

Last night I dreamed that I was putting dirty bowls and glasses into a half-full dishwasher, only to suddenly realize that the dishes that had been in there before I started were already clean!!.

Seriously, my subconscious: Is that the best anxiety dream you could come up with? It’s like you’re not even trying anymore.

Eye Where

Yesterday I saw a young women in the library wearing a pushup bra under a t-shirt that was at least a size too small. The shirt had an arrow pointing up and the text “MY EYES ARE UP HERE!”

I like Stephen’s comment on the woman’s shirt. Pretty much wrapps that exprience up perfectly.

I know how you feel about the stress dreams. But mine are dredged up from my being a father of a one year old girl. So my dreams are all based around not cleaning out the diaper genie, and how I’m holding a stinking, poo filled diaper but I have no where to put it. And I have to keep one hand on the baby so she doesn’t roll off the changing table. It’s pointless.

Two nights ago, I had a dream in which I ate fish and chips (with Old Bay for those who know) out of styrofoam containers at a Dine-In/Carryout restaurant. With Arsenio Hall. We played one of those electronic poker games and drank Bud bottles served to us by the bartender, Kato Kaelin.

I’ve never had fish and chips before. I’ve never played electronic poker. And it’s entirely possible that, other than Arsenio Hall and Paula Abdul, I’m the only person in the world who has dreamed about Arsenio Hall so far this year. I have no idea how it happened or why, but I’m really curious to know if Arsenio is any good at video poker.

Man, I envy your anxiety dreams. Next week I’m flying to San Francisco, so naturally my brain had to cough up a cinematic delight last night involving: an earthquake making the top of the Transamerica building (among others) slide off, and me running back to the hotel yelling “Where’s my stuff?! Someone’s gonna loot my stuff!” and sure ’nuff, my luggage was all gone. It was a nice earthquake-9/11-Katrina hat trick of a nightmare.

They aren’t wiretapping U.S. Citizens, they are tapping members of Al-Qaeda outside the U.S. If you receive a call from a member of Al-Qaeda, you are likely to have your conversation recorded, but I fail to see where that is a bad thing.

And the latest isn’t a build on that. They aren’t recording conversations, or even identifying what number beongs to whom; just looking for calling patterns. If they then find a member of a terrorist organization later, they can plug his/her number into the giant database and see who that person has been contacting.

I’m not saying I agree with all of it 100%, but I also disagree with the mischaracterization of what is happening.

On a simpler note, I have to agree that there are a lot of women engaged in that kind of entrapment. So I just go ahead and stare anyway. If they’re going to put them out there for the world to see, I don’t want to deny them their chance to act upset about it.

That reminds me of a girl I saw yesterday wearing a shirt that said “I *heart* Cupcakes.” As the shirt was extremely tight and she was carrying at least twenty extra pounds in her stomach alone, I had to fight the urge to yell “No kidding!” at her.

Sure, it’ll be a great day when people can dress in such a way that they can select very specifically who they’ll be getting attention from, but in the meantime, at least for us literate straight men, words written over well-emphasized boobs is unavoidably attractive to the eye. Especially if there’s movement.

Give me a break! I hear quite well, and yet I can’t avoid reading the subtitles even if I understand the spoken language. Reading is natural to me, and looking at breasts is a pleasure. Someone should work on the technology that makes women’s shirts illegible and off-putting to half-wit fatasses like me, and look like hot pizza and cold beer to wealthy stable men who don’t fear commitment. Show me the technology and I’ll invest!

Until then, I try hard not to stare and usually manage it. I almost never converse with a woman’s chest, even when we’re both naked. By checking out a woman’s bust, I’m not doing anything to her that she hasn’t licensed by, say, being in public. She gets to choose between unwanted attention and not enough desired attention, just like the rest of us. Cope!

Oh come on guys, is it really so hard to not look at a woman’s breasts, even if she is wearing a revealing shirt or one with writing? There’s this incredible thing called “self control” that allows us humans to resist animalistic urges. Try using it, you’ll be surprised how easy it is! Plus, women might actually find you more appealing (since they’ll see you as a human rather than a drooling animal). This will provide more opportunities to fullfill all your breast related urges at appropriate moments…

PS – I took DY’s post as mere humour and not serious commentary, so he is excused from this scolding. Very funny post man…

Oy, I hate it when women wear clothes cut-down-to-there or slit-up-to-here, or look like they were spray painted on, who then have the audacity to chastise guys for admiring their figure. It reflects badly on the rest of us gals. For one, it makes us look stupid. If you can’t follow the train of logic that emphasized cleavage = male attention to said cleavage, you aren’t the brightest bulb in the house. Secondly, it’s disrespectful to guys to expect them to switch off their hormones at will when any realistic woman has to admit that tight jeans (or other item of clothing that showcases male body parts) = female gawping. Wacky double standards insult men *and* women.

If I wear a tight shirt or a short skirt, or put some healthy cleavage where you can’t miss it, guys, you have my express permission to stare away because that’s precisely my goal.

My wife teaches music, and once did a series of concerts with a very good accompanist who was something of a character. For one rehearsal she was wearing a T-shirt with some slogan or other on it, and the accompanist said “I love sloganned T-shirts, because they give me such a good excuse for staring at women’s breasts”. I’d second that.

I think the correct response to “My eyes are up here” is “Yes, and I’m sure I’ll enjoy gazing into them when I’ve finished reading this”.